


5 times john took alexander apart and 1 time he didn't have to

by selenedaydreams



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5 times + 1, Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5372297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenedaydreams/pseuds/selenedaydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glimpses into six moments that John took Alexander completely apart, be it in person or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 times john took alexander apart and 1 time he didn't have to

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plinys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/gifts).



> I'm a sucker for the 5 times model and I really wanted to explore this angsty idea. Enjoy :)

**1.**

He isn’t paying attention.

Washington actually has to call his name to bring him back to the matter at hand all because John had put a hand on his shoulder in search for leverage as he leaned in to look at the map on the table before them.

John’s hand remains in place even after he apologizes, quoting a feeble excuse about getting lost in a complex calculation about their current odds. Washington seems to believe him though and continues his speech.

When Alexander turns to look at John, he is watching Alexander with a kind and amused epression. Nothing that should make his breath halt in his throat.

It does though. It does and Alexander has to remind himself to breath as tears his gaze away from him and quietly tries to piece himself back together in order to properly contribute to the conversation.

Of course, when John squeezes his shoulder moments later, all his composure goes to hell once again.

 

* * *

 

**2.**

He isn’t sure how they got here, but John’s body is pressed flush against his and that’s all that matters.

They barely made it through the entrance of their tent before Alexander fisted a hand in the front of his shirt and kissed him like the very fate of the world depended on the union of their lips in that very moment.

Alexander is perfectly aware of how he kisses. He kisses the same exact way he does anything else: Desperately. Passionately. Widly.

John, however, doesn’t kiss the way he would have expected him to.

He clings to Alexander, one hand buried in his hair while the other grips tightly onto his waist to hold him as close as possible, almost as if he’s afraid that if he lets go they will never have a chance to do this again.

It’s almost too much to handle and when John pushes him down onto his wobbly cot he clings to him too because right now John is the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart right before him.

But that’s John’s intention though, isn’t it? To take him apart. Why else would he be unbuttoning his coat and pressing open mouth kisses to his jaw if not to chip away any semblance of composure and leave him debauched and breathless.

“ _Alexander_.”

He should have known he never stood a chance.

 

* * *

 

**3.**

He forgets how to breathe all over again weeks later.

Alexander is sitting in John’s lap, facing him, his knuckles turning white from his death grip on John’s shoulders. The man below him just continues peppering his skin with kisses though, as if oblivious to the fact that Alexander is coming apart right before his eyes.

They shouldn’t be doing this, that much is obvious. Anyone could walk into their tent and find them in this incredibly compromising position with absolutely no other explanation than the obvious one. They could be discharged. They could be arrested. They could easily be sentenced to death and driven apart and-

John bucks his hips as he bites at the juncture between Alexander’s shoulder and neck.

“ _Please_.”

He’s begging. Alexander doesn’t beg but right now he’s begging and John is forced to silence him with a sloppy kiss. John’s tongue slowly licks at the seam of his lips, once, twice, before seeking solace inside his mouth and tasting the last remnants of the whiskey they had shared earlier.

Correction: the whiskey John had poured into Alexander’s mouth before sealing their lips together and drinking his fill.

Alexander would have allowed him to lick the liquor right off his skin if he had desired to but it seemed that for that John was far more interested in his mouth than anything else at that time.

It’s Alexander’s turn to roll his hips and John makes no effort to stop him. He simply continues holding onto Alexander’s waist, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the damp skin of his back as Alexander moved on his lap. Compared to him, John is a perfect picture of composure.

Alexander throws his head back in a silent scream of pleasure as he comes apart in John’s hands only moments later.

 

* * *

 

**4.**

It’s not all physical though.

John’s writing, despite his insistence that it can’t hold a candle to his own, is exquisite. Alexander has read and reread John’s manifesto against slavery so many times that he can practically quote it in its entirety and yet each time he runs over those words in his mind he feels exhilarated.

John’s words, whether on paper or whispered against the nape of his neck in the darkness at night, have the power to leave him shaken and alive, or even both at the same time.

The way he professes his love is unequaled. Novels pale in comparison.

Every time John blesses him with those three precious words he feels completely exposed and coming apart at the seams in the best way possible.

 

* * *

 

**5.**

John’s mouth is on him and Alexander forgets how to speak.

If only his enemies knew that the quickest way to silence him was to put John’s lips or hands anywhere on his body.

John is a weapon and a saint all wrapped up into one brave soldier that Alexander doesn’t see himself deserving of. Sometimes it frightens him to think about how much power John holds over him.

Even right now as John kneels on the cold ground before him with his lips wrapped around him while Alexander grips his hair tightly he’s completely in control.

Submission has never looked so powerful.

John’s eyes haven’t left his once and the way he’s holding onto his hips for leverage bears an unspoken promise that there will be bruises there come morning light. Bruises that will match the blooming marks on his collarbone that rest just below where the collar of his shirt does. Alexander tugs sharply on his hair to pull him off but immediately regrets it.

The way John looks right now, eyes half lidded and lips shiny and half parted is enough to make him fall apart almost instantaneously.

 

* * *

 

**+1**

The war doesn’t last forever. No one thought it would, although some dreamed about that impossibility.

He can still remember that night late in December when John pressed himself as close as possible to him in search for warmth and confessed that sometimes he wished the war would never end so that this would never have to end either.

Alexander swore to him that nothing could ever drive them apart. That even if the entire world fell into peace all at once and there was no longer anything to fight for they would remain together.

And for a brief moment, John believed him. Alexander almost believed himself too.

Almost.

He should have known it would be a foolish mistake.

Alexander never once regretted the power John held over him, he had never been given any reason to, until now.

Until the day the letter from Henry Laurens arrives.

Even in death John is still able to take him apart, except now he leaves him to pick up the pieces himself.

Maybe he should have confessed to John that putting himself back together alone was nothing short of impossible.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @mallcolmducasse.


End file.
